


Louisa vs. Martinique

by FlashFlashFlash



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Almost Canon-Compliant, Awkward questions, Explanations, M/M, Married Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz, Mpreg, Peterick, Save Rock and Roll Era, baby Stump, kids are just so cute when they're curious, pregnant!patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 03:29:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashFlashFlash/pseuds/FlashFlashFlash
Summary: One in four males can get pregnant, and Patrick is Fall Out Boy's resident carrier. He's married to Pete now, and they're expecting a baby girl in four and a half months' time, but the couple have one more announcement hurdle to jump before they can relax.





	Louisa vs. Martinique

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know what Ashlee is like as an ex-wife, but I was too lazy to write her as troublesome. 
> 
> This is a little different from my others so far, but (badly) proofread (!), which is a massive bonus.

Patrick rest his hand on his little baby bump, and turned in the mirror to see where it was most noticeable. The bedroom door clicked open softly, and Pete entered the room, smiling fondly. 

"Hey," he said, approaching Patrick and wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. He slipped his hands under Patrick's pyjama shirt, rubbing slow, smooth circles over the hump. "You're still not dressed," he said, resting his chin on Patrick's shoulder. "Bronx won't be long." 

"I threw up again," Patrick shuddered. He squeezed Pete's hand. "I barely just made it to the bathroom, and I didn't fancy cleaning the floor in my jeans that don't fit anymore." 

"You should have let me do it," Pete kisses Patrick's neck. "I'd've rubbed your back or something, too," he presses another, longer, kiss to Patrick's jaw. 

"Mmmm," Patrick nodded lazily. "Didn't have time." 

"Poor you," Pete gently turns Patrick in his arms and slides his hands up Patrick's back. "You should go get dressed." 

"Fine," Patrick huffs. He wanders over to his wardrobe and begins to root through it in an attempt to cover up the fact that he knows his jeans won't button any longer. He settles on a loose, white, collared shirt he's pretty sure he hasn't worn since Folie days and a maroon cardigan that's way too big. He wriggles into his best jeans, pouting when Pete laughs at him because his zipper won't even stay halfway up, peeling back whenever it's yanked up. The doorbell rings quietly just as Patrick's huffing and puffing while wrestling with an elastic band over the jeans' button. 

"That'll be Ashlee with Bronx," Pete says, snapping a picture of Patrick's efforts and proceeding to send it to And and Joe without explanation. "I'll get the door," he stuffs his phone in his back pocket, and then he's gone. 

"Fuck," Patrick breathes, falling back onto the bed. "I'm not even six months pregnant yet, this is ridiculous," he mutters to himself. Almost as if in response, he feels a kick in his diaphragm, yelping involuntarily. Downstairs, he can hear excited greetings and bear hugs, diluted by short bursts of adult conversation. He catches the words 'fruit', 'TV' and 'naps', and mulls over what he'll say to Bronx as he changes his shirt. Once he's finally ready, he slowly but surely heads downstairs (he's already waddling a little), still adjusting the angles of his fedora and glasses. 

Patrick catches sight of himself in the mirror on the landing, realising that he could probably pass for 'a bit bigger at the moment' if he could remember how to walk properly. Ashlee doesn't know that he's pregnant yet, and neither does Bronx. That's why he's here for the week; they're going to tell him about his new sister now that the largest miscarriage risk is gone. Patrick approaches the front door, trying his best to point his feet straight ahead so that he doesn't look too obvious, and sees that Bronx has already gone through to the living room to play. 

Pete and Ashlee are discussing Bronx's sleep schedule when Patrick gets there. More specifically, the subject is regulating naps. 

"Just don't let him sleep too long in the day," Ashlee sighs. "You know he'll be up all night if you let him sleep more than an hour and a half." 

"Alright, I guess so," Pete acknowledges Patrick's arrival. "Hey, come to say hello?" 

"Yeah," Patrick fights the urge to put a hand on his bump. "Hey, Ashlee, how are you?" 

"Good, thanks," Ashlee says, looking a little suspicious. "And you?" 

Pete and Patrick glance at each other. 

"Actually-" Patrick begins. 

"You're pregnant?" Ashlee smirks. Pete and Patrick look shocked. "You've gained weight, you look tired, and you're walking like a penguin that needs a wee," she laughs. "I don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to work that one out." 

Patrick blushed more heavily than he thought was possible. 

"We're telling Bronx today," Pete slips an arm around Patrick's swollen waistline. 

"Good luck with that, you know he likes asking awkward questions."

-

Four hours later, Patrick is absolutely exhausted. Bronx is full of energy, bouncing around and giggling, playing games and telling stories, but Patrick hasn't slept properly in weeks, he has to pee every five minutes, and the smell of play-doh is making him endlessly nauseous. It's safe to say that Patrick just wants to sleep. Pete keeps up with Bronx a little better, but when Bronx heads upstairs to fetch a different toy from his room, he, too, looks a little tired. 

"Five year olds are hard work," he chuckles. Pete collapses into the sofa next to Patrick, lump of play-doh in hand.

"No kidding," Patrick sighs. A strong, salty odour circles his head. "That play-doh stuff is making me feel really quite sick," he closes his eyes and drops his head onto Pete's shoulder. Pete laughs. 

"It doesn't smell that bad, does it?"

"It's nauseating. Please, just get rid of it." 

"Get rid of what?" A small voice pipes. Bronx is in the doorway, clutching a small plastic fire truck. 

"Patrick wants us to get rid of your play-doh!" Pete fakes shock. 

"Why?" Bronx whines, running for Pete and scrambling into his lap. This is their opportunity. 

"Well, we have something to tell you, Bronx," Pete hugs his son closer. 

"I'm going to have a baby," Patrick smiles. "And having a baby makes you feel very sick sometimes, especially when something doesn't smell very nice."

"Is it a girl or a boy?" Bronx asks, leaning his head against his father's chest. 

"A girl," Patrick puts a hand over his bump and smiles, rubbing lightly. 

"Her name's going to be Louisa," Pete grins. He's still smug that he won the 'Louisa vs Martinique' battle. Patrick cried when Andy and Joe both voted against his own middle name, but he knows their daughter will thank them in the future. "But we want you to pick a middle name." 

Bronx gasps, sitting upright and waving his fists excitedly. 

"Really?!" Bronx reaches for Patrick's tummy, then pauses. "Can I feel, Patrick? Please?" 

"Go ahead," Patrick pulls his shirt up, and turns a little to his left so that Bronx's little arms can reach. The small hands on his skin are warm and safe, but a little grabby, which isn't his favourite thing. Evidently, neither does Louisa. She kicks right at Bronx's hand, and he yelps in surprise. "Don't worry, she's just saying hi." 

"Hi," Bronx waves at Patrick's stomach, whispering like his voice will hurt him. He pauses, frowning. "Dad, how did the baby get in Patrick's tummy?" 

There's a fuzzy, awkward silence. As a step-parent, and a pregnant person, Patrick decides to take this one. 

"Well, when people like each other lots, lots and lots, and they're grown ups," Patrick gently replaces Bronx's hand on his tummy. "They do a very special type of grown ups' kissing and cuddling, and if one of them is like me, and can have babies, then," he smiles as Bronx's fingers draw a pattern lightly across the stretch marks on his abdomen. "Then they have to take special medicine and the man has to be very careful. If they want to make a baby, then the carrier stops taking the special medicine and after a while, they get pregnant, like me." 

"So it's like a magic hug?" Bronx cocks his head. 

"That's right, buddy," Pete kisses his head. 

"What if I do my normal kissing and cuddling wrong? Will Patrick have another baby?" 

"No, sweetheart, don't worry. When you're old enough, someone will teach you how to do the kissing and cuddling," Patrick soothes, upon seeing Bronx's eyes widen.

"Does the special kissing and cuddling have a name?" 

"Yeah," Pete rubs a hand along Bronx's back. "It's called sex." 

"Oh," Bronx says, looking deep in thought. "Does that mean that you did sex with Patrick, Dad?" 

"Yes." 

"And, do you like him lots and lots?" 

"I love Patrick very much," Pete says softly, tilting his head to meet Patrick's eyes.

"I guess that's okay then."


End file.
